


i thought

by marleystcyr



Category: Panic - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleystcyr/pseuds/marleystcyr





	i thought

fic: I Thought (1/2)  
Jan 18, 2008 20:30

 

Title: I Thought  
Word Count: 14,387  
Rating: R, possibly NC-17  
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, though the canon girlfriends make an appearance  
Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned these boys they would not be doing each other. Also, if this is true, then I'm going to have to see if I can read other peoples' minds as well.  
Summary: In the beginning, the Thing that Brendon and Ryan start up isn't supposed to be anything other than a way to relax and unwind. After awhile, Brendon stops being sure what it actually is, and what either of them want.  
Notes: So, on a note that has nothing to do with this story first, my old LJ was 

qtiphawaii, and I've posted fic from that username before. This is the account I'm using now.

On a separate note....what? 14,387 words? When I started this fic, I was thinking maybe, oh, 5,000 or so. I'm really not sure what happened in the intervening time, but obviously something did, and this is the result. 

I Thought 

Working at the Smoothie Hut was most bearable on the days that Brendon got visits from his friends. Most often it was Spencer and Ryan, dropping in casually together during their mysterious best friend bonding times. They normally didn’t stay too long, just enough time to order drinks and joke with Brendon for a few minutes, sometimes letting him know if their practice time had changed, or telling him what they’d been doing that day. Other times it was Brent, who would shuffle in awkwardly as though he felt guilty for dragging Brendon into the band that had made this job necessary. He would always leave his change in the tip jar and mutter, “See you at rehearsal,” before he hurried back out. 

On the occasional day, however, Ryan would come in by himself, and those were Brendon’s favourite days. When it was only Ryan without Spencer alongside, he’d bring a notebook and sit at the table nearest to the counter, hunched over and writing furiously. Occasionally Brendon would catch Ryan looking at him, and whenever that happened, Brendon would raise his eyebrows and grin. Ryan would ruffle his perfectly straightened hair with one long-fingered hand and smile back with chagrin, asking for a synonym for promiscuity, or fame. He always stayed until Brendon had a break, and then he’d let Brendon drape himself around his thin frame, carefully keeping the scribbled notebook shut. 

Brendon didn’t mind the secrecy, because when he went back to work, sometimes Ryan would come right up to the counter and lean over, reading bits of what he’d been working on in a low, flat voice that was almost lost in the drone of the blenders. Since Brendon was pretty sure that even Spencer didn’t get to hear Ryan’s words before they were polished enough to bring before the whole band, hearing them rough and low and uncertain was a special thrill that he couldn’t describe. 

By the fourth or fifth time this happened, Brendon started just giving Ryan his smoothies for free, and his manager didn’t even bat an eye. When he asked her later, she grinned and told him, “That boy looks half starved. Besides, he keeps up employee morale.” 

The evening of that conversation, when he got to his apartment, he was so focused on getting upstairs and inside that he almost tripped over Ryan, who was lounging on the part of the landing around the corner from the first part of the stairs so that he was invisible until Brendon was nearly on top of him. 

“Jesus, Ross, way to nearly give me a heart attack!” Brendon exclaimed, clutching at the railing of the stairwell with one hand, and pressing the other to his chest in an action that was only slightly more dramatic than what the situation called for. 

Ryan just picked himself up and brushed off the back of his jeans, announcing, “I’m going to stay with you tonight.” 

“Umm, okay, you can invite yourself over, that’s fine,” Brendon replied as he finished climbing the stairs and unlocked the door to his small apartment. Once in, he dropped his backpack and work visor by the door and threw himself down on the sofa. “God, I’m exhausted,” he complained. 

In response, Ryan snorted, but he looked faintly sympathetic. “Let’s watch a movie or something,” he suggested, picking his way over to the television that Brendon had found in a second hand store earlier that month. 

“Can’t,” Brendon explained, “I don’t have a VCR or DVD player or anything like that. But we can watch TV. I get basic cable.” 

“Okay,” Ryan agreed, clicking on the television and joining Brendon, who had sat up to make more room for him on the couch. 

As it turned out, the only decent thing on was a documentary on blue whales, and Ryan seemed interested, so Brendon kept it on. Slouching down, he leaned his head sideways against Ryan’s shoulder. When he glanced over to be sure that the other boy wasn’t supremely uncomfortable, he found Ryan looking intently at the television, pale skin flickering with the blues of the deep ocean, wearing the tiniest hint of a smile. 

\---------------------- 

When the Pete Wentz Thing happened, Brendon was at work. Ryan burst through the door, all shining eyes and a bright grin. He was wearing basketball shorts and a baggy T-shirt that Brendon was almost certain he’d seen Ryan sleep in, as if he’d left the house too quickly to even get dressed, and his hair was unstraightened, sticking up in every direction. That was Brendon’s first clue that something had happened. 

“When do you get your break?” Ryan asked, breathless, as he leaned heavily on his elbows on the counter, chin almost resting in one of the blenders. 

Smiling back, because it was impossible not to when Ryan was glowing as happily as he was right now, Brendon said, “I’ve got fifteen minutes, and then I have a half hour ‘lunch’ break. What’s up?” 

Ryan only shook his head, getting his expression under control enough that his lips were pressed into a line, although he couldn’t keep them from curving up at the edges. “I’ll tell you when you’re on break. I think you need to be outside for this.” 

With a shrug, Brendon returned to washing out blenders. If Ryan was set on not telling, Brendon wasn’t going to be able to convince him to talk until he was ready, so there wasn’t much use forcing the issue. 

All the same, the next fourteen minutes ticked by incredibly slowly, especially with Ryan wandering around the store, unable to sit down. Brendon watched him look at the available merchandise, flip through a recipe book several times, try to sit at his normal table and almost immediately jump up, admire all the pictures on the walls, and finally come back over to lean on the counter and stare at Brendon as he blended bananas and strawberries. 

Finally he was able to clock out, leaving his apron and visors on a hook in the back before walking out to meet Ryan. Now that he was about to find out whatever it was that Ryan was so excited about, he felt calmer, like he could wait forever without sweat. On the other hand, Ryan looked like he was going to burst if they didn’t get outside right away, so Brendon hastened them through the door. 

As soon as they were clear of the front door, standing in the hot, early-Nevada-summer-sun-baked parking lot, Brendon started to ask, “So, dude, what’s-” but was cut off by Ryan exploding, “Pete Wentz wants to sign us!” 

In the silence that followed, Brendon and Ryan stared at one another, Brendon’s mouth open in a small o of shock. “Wait,” he finally managed, “Let me make sure I just heard you right. Because I thought you said-” 

“Pete Wentz wants to sign us!” Ryan interrupted again, half-laughing and half-yelling, “I sent him the links to our music, and he liked it, and we talked online, and he’s going to fly out to see us!” 

Brendon grabbed Ryan’s upper arms, trying to keep from jumping up and down, or screaming, and said, “Ryan Ross, if you are playing some kind of joke on me then I will go to hairdressing school, I swear.” Even as he was saying it, though, he knew from the unbridled happiness that so rarely made it to Ryan’s face that he was completely serious. 

Shaking his head, Ryan put his hands on Brendon’s shoulders and tilted his head forward until their foreheads met. Looking him in the eye, Ryan quietly said, “No, Brendon, it’s real. It’s real.” 

Without really knowing what he was doing, Brendon stayed there, breathing quietly, his lungs filling with the thick desert air and the thicker air between them, for what felt like an eternity before he let himself go, spinning back away from Ryan and twirling in circles with his arms flung out to either side of him. “We did it!” he yelled, the words ringing through the parking lot, “We did it, we did it!” 

Ryan joined him, and Brendon spun back around to him and grabbed him, fisting one hand in his hair and the other in the back of his T-shirt. Both of Ryan’s arms came to rest around his waist, and they chanted together, “We did it, we made it,” winded and thrilled, before falling silent again. 

Since they still had twenty minutes before Brendon had to be back working again, they walked to the grocery store to buy Poptarts that they ate untoasted, sodas, and fruit snacks. On the way back they got into a fruit snack war that Brendon, admittedly, began. Rather than roll his eyes and tell Brendon to stop being so immature, however, Ryan joined in, trying to get the fruit snacks down the front of Brendon’s collared shirt. After awhile he gave up on dodging them, and started ducking to try to catch them out of the air, yelling in triumph whenever he did. 

Their messing around made Brendon two minutes late returning to his shift, but he didn’t even care that they’d be docking him for a full half hour. He was too drunk on the thoughts of labels, and how Ryan’s eyes had looked, crinkling at the edges as he laughed. Thinking back, Brendon was pretty sure that he’d never seen the other boy look so absolutely guileless and happy, in the months that they’d been practicing together. It made him much more beautiful than when he was trying to be serious and deep. 

Secretly, he hoped that Ryan didn’t smile like that at very many other people. It seemed too open and personal to share with the rest of the world, and it made something twist in an indefinable place somewhere within Brendon when he considered it. 

\------------------------ 

When Pete Wentz actually came to hear them play, just Brendon, Ryan, and the sound system playing for Spencer and Brent, he wasn’t anything like what Brendon had pictured. For one thing, he was so much shorter, which made him somewhat less intimidating. For another, as soon as he saw them, his face broke into a huge, almost comical grin, which seemed to throw Ryan off-kilter. Brendon could tell that Ryan was nervous, because his tone was even flatter than normal as he introduced himself. 

As they approached the microphone and guitar stands, Pete bypassed the chair that they had set out for him and hopped onto the workbench at the side of the garage. He spread his hands and told them, “Let’s hear it. I’m psyched.” When Brendon stole a look at Ryan, head bent and bangs falling in his face as he made sure his guitar was still in tune, a light pink had risen in his cheeks, and his was biting his lip hard in concentration. 

Brendon was still watching Ryan when he looked up again, and Brendon ignored the tense knot in his own stomach long enough to purposely grin at him and mouth, “Ready?” 

Looking a little ill, Ryan nodded, took a breath, and then smiled back, a real smile. They launched into the first song, not taking their eyes off of each other until the end. 

As soon as they finished, Pete hopped down from the table, clapping madly and throwing in the occasional whoop before Brendon could even start to hold his breath in anticipation. Pete launched himself at both of them, throwing an arm around each boy to pull them into a three-person hug. “My first little protégés!” he crowed, “I love it. You guys are going to be chart toppers in no time. You’ve got a few kinks to work out, but then again…” Pausing, he drew back and winked lewdly, “who doesn’t have some kinks?” 

Ryan’s face went even redder than it had before they’d begun, and Brendon laughed nervously. Pete just threw back his head and brayed, and Brendon wasn’t sure whether or not to like this tiny, lovely man wearing too much eye makeup and making jokes that could mean anything. Then Pete went on to say, “So, I think we should wait until all four of you are together to talk about contracts, but I will say that the first thing you’re going to need to be part of Decaydance are Sidekicks so I can get hold of you anytime I please.” 

He freed them again, rubbed his hands together, and asked, “So, who’s up for dinner?” Brendon decided that he might have to dislike Pete, especially with Ryan shyly saying, “Sure. You want to, Bren?” and giving Pete that smile. 

“Excellent,” Pete replied enthusiastically before Brendon could answer, and started to lead them around the front of the house to where his car was parked. “Oh, the one thing I can tell you that you’re going to need to watch out for when you’re actually onstage. Maybe look at the audience once in awhile.” 

Brendon shot him a quick look, but he was just unlocking the doors, and nothing in his face said that he was making fun of them, so Brendon let it go. As they got into the car, both of them in the backseat, a thin hand slipped into his just long enough to squeeze, and Ryan whispered, “We’re going out to dinner with Pete Wentz.” 

The awe in his voice rang in Brendon’s ear, irritating him, and he didn’t say much in the car, even though Ryan kicked his foot a few times and huffed under his breath every time he had to answer Pete’s questions without any help. When they got to the restaurant and sat, Pete lounging across from them in the booth with his feet stretched out along the seat, Ryan announced, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” and glared at Brendon until, feeling like a fifteen-year-old girl, Brendon said, “Um, yeah, me too.” 

Pete, perusing the menu, just waved and said, “Okay, I’ll order you guys something to drink if you’re not back.” 

Brendon was about to tell him what he wanted to drink, but Ryan was already shoving him along towards the bathrooms with a hand on the small of his back, so he decided he’d have to put up with whatever he got. They marched past the telephones and into the bathroom, which was large and clean, and Ryan struck his bitchiest pose, leaning against the wall with a hand on one hip and the other cocked, head tilted to one side so that his hair fell across one of his eyes. 

“What’s up?” Brendon asked, feigning innocence. In response, Ryan rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know, maybe you should tell me. You’ve been in a shitty mood since we finished playing. I don’t get it. We’re getting an offer for a spot on Fueled By Ramen, and you’re acting like a kid having a tantrum. What’s that about?” 

With a shrug, Brendon admitted, “I don’t know. Does it strike you as completely normal that this was so easy? Send for Pete Wentz, he comes, he apparently likes us even when we’re not playing our best, and missing two people. I just…” Ryan was looking at him as though he wanted to say something harsh, and Brendon’s defenses went up even further. Hurriedly he added, “Maybe you were too busy staring at him to think about it.” 

Clapping a hand over his mouth, when he chanced a look at Ryan, he wondered if Ryan was going to scratch his eyes out. Not his throat, because he was the singer, but his eyes were a definite possibility. Instead, pulling a scowl, Ryan said disbelievingly, “Are you…serious? God, Brendon, you’re an idiot. He’s one of my idols. But he’s…this has all happened because of us. We fucking worked for this, and if I thought Pete was giving us an advantage on anything other than that…” 

He didn’t finish, but let the sentence hang meaningfully, and Brendon felt incredibly chagrinned. Hanging his head, he said, “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” There was a pause, and then a cool hand cupped his jaw and forced him to look up. Ryan was staring at him as though considering something. 

“Were you jealous?” he finally asked, and Brendon’s eyes widened. He didn’t want to say that that was exactly what the feeling had been like, when Ryan was looking adoringly at Pete, so he shook his head.

“I just don’t want this to be for the wrong reasons,” he muttered, and Ryan sighed. “I know,” he replied, “and it’s not. It’s about us.” 

Brendon met his eyes again, and found Ryan looking earnestly at him. Then Ryan heaved another sigh and stepped forward, enfolding Brendon in his skinny embrace. Dry lips brushed the side of Brendon’s cheek, and even though he was pretty sure that it had been an accident, it felt calming nonetheless. When he pulled back he smiled tentatively, and Ryan smiled back, openly. “You’re an idiot,” he reiterated, but fondly this time. 

When Brendon had stopped comparing Ryan’s grin to the one he’d flashed at Pete, which he was pretty sure now weren’t at all the same, he jerked his head towards the door. “We should get back out there before he thinks we’re up to something,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Ryan rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against Brendon’s before opening the door and leading them back to the table.

“I ordered you guys ginger ales,” Pete told them when they were seated again. Brendon revised his earlier opinion. Pete Wentz was awesome. 

\-------------------- 

That night, Ryan had Pete drop them both off at Brendon’s apartment, and they headed up the stairs together, practically humming with excitement. They pulled out the sofa bed and lay down, but Brendon was far too wound up still to sleep. They had an early practice in the morning, so he tried to be quiet as he adjusted how he was lying over and over. 

After awhile he heard a quiet, “Shut up, Brendon.” 

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?” he whispered back. 

“No, I just never fell asleep,” was the clipped reply. 

Brendon rolled onto his side, squinting in the dark to see Ryan lying next to him. Ignoring Ryan’s tone of voice, he said, “Yeah, me neither. I’m too wound up still. I don’t think I’m going to sleep for the next couple months.” 

With a snort, Ryan said, “When aren’t you like that?”

Laughing, a too-loud noise in the shadowy room, Brendon joked, “Sex. Sex calms me down.” It was mostly a lie, because he hadn’t ever gone further than kissing, but Ryan didn’t need to know that. 

There was a long silence, and then Ryan loomed up next to him, reaching a hand so that he was hanging above Brendon. In confusion, Brendon looked up at him, unable to read the expression in his eyes. “Ryan, what-” 

“I just thought maybe we could…it wouldn’t have to mean anything, but it’d be something to do when we couldn’t sleep, or were stressed or whatever,” Ryan replied, and already one of his thin hands was sliding down Brendon’s side. 

“Um,” Brendon said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and besides, Ryan was above him looking so open and honest, and a little bit scared, like he half-expected to be shoved away. That’s what did it for him. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything, just to relax,” he repeated. 

His former priest’s face came to mind, stern and reproachful, telling the high school youth group, “Sexual intercourse in any form outside of the bonds of marriage is a sin. Lustful thoughts are sins. Keep yourself pure and clean.” Without ever needing to say it, it was obvious what the priest thought about same sex unions of any kind, even when they were just friends helping each other out, like this. It filled Brendon with the same thrill of rebellion that the band had, that renouncing the church had, that signing his lease agreement had. 

Brendon managed to choke out, “Okay,” before Ryan reached the top of his boxers and curled his fingers into them, sliding them down over his hips. Already Brendon was half-hard, looking up at Ryan’s determined face, and when the large hand closed over his cock, it pulled a surprised groan from him. 

It was different, having Ryan touching him, and Brendon closed his eyes experimentally, trying to picture a girl, or anything that wasn’t Ryan with his unmasked eyes full of an expression that Brendon couldn’t read in the dark of the room. No matter how hard he tried to settle on one of his fallback fantasies, however, the image of Ryan was apparently burned through his eyelids, so finally he just opened them again. 

Ryan was looking at his hand around Brendon’s cock, as though he’d never seen anything like it before. Brendon took that as a good sign, trying to shake the idea that came with it of Ryan and Spencer getting each other off this way, just because it was better when it was someone else. Then Ryan looked back up at him, and Brendon arched his back, biting his bottom lip to hold in his moan, and came messily over his stomach and Ryan’s hand. 

Once he’d gotten his breath back, sucking in great gulps of air, he asked, “Do you want me to…for you?” because it seemed like the polite thing to do. Ryan shook his head quickly. 

“It’s okay, I’ll just…” he motioned towards himself, and reached down. 

That seemed amazingly unfair, so Brendon reached out and stopped him, albeit a bit hesitantly, because maybe Ryan actually didn’t want Brendon to touch him. “Are you sure? I don’t mind, and you did me, so…” 

Ryan bit his lip and nodded, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

This was even stranger than being touched by Ryan, wrapping his hand around Ryan’s hard cock, a little bigger than his own, and hearing the rush of air as Ryan exhaled all at once. He jerked experimentally, trying to match the pace that Ryan had set with him, as he assumed that that’s how Ryan liked it best. Pre-come was already leaking from the head after a minute or so, and Brendon slicked it down the sides so that his hand slid more easily, and Ryan moaned. 

Pressing hard into the vein that ran along the bottom, Brendon got another, higher noise from Ryan, almost a squeak, and then he felt the telltale rush just under the skin at the same time that Ryan warned, “Close.” It was only another few tugs before Ryan was stiffening, grabbing at the sheets as his eyes rolled back and he gasped out through his mouth. 

It was the first time Brendon had ever seen someone else orgasm up close, porn notwithstanding, and he watched closely as Ryan shuddered through the aftershocks, eyes fluttering shut. Once he was through, softening, he immediately rolled over, away from Brendon, pulling up his boxers without cleaning himself up. Into the dark, Brendon said, “Um, thanks.” 

“No problem. Go to sleep.” 

It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

Brendon fell asleep within minutes, exhausted and overloaded with thoughts. 

\--------------------- 

The next morning, he awoke sticky and chilly, as during the night Ryan had managed to take possession of the sheets and twist himself up in them. Wrinkling his nose as he climbed out of bed and softly padded into the bathroom he made a mental note to take the sheets down to the laundry room before sleeping under them again. 

Standing in the shower, Brendon felt itchy and uncertain. What did Ryan expect now? Was this going to become a thing, or was it a one-night-stand? Brendon had never really looked at guys in that way before, but Ryan wasn’t like any other guys that he had known. He was pretty, and inspired, and not a clone of every other upstanding young man in the Church of Latter-Day Saints. Besides, he came and sat in the Smoothie Hut, sharing his time and thoughts with Brendon, showing an interest that no one else seemed to lately. Also, there were his bright, unreserved grins that were so rare, but that somehow Brendon managed to warrant. 

Before he knew it, his hand was around his cock, jerking to the picture of Ryan’s creamy skin under his fingers, and Ryan’s quiet assurance that Brendon didn’t have to do anything for him if he didn’t want to. The only problem was how much he’d wanted to. 

After he came, he stood shaking in the spray, and then turned up the water until it was scorching his skin so badly that he felt faint. 

In the other room, Ryan was up, and the bed was made. He quirked his lips as he walked past Brendon and into the bathroom, but even though Brendon waited all morning and then for the rest of the day thereafter, Ryan didn’t say a word about the previous night. 

Practice was slightly off, with all of them getting frustrated to the point of yelling. Even Brent, who tried to stay out of the fights as much as possible, got in on it, and finally, seething, Ryan said, “Just forget it. We’re done for the night,” and actually walked out. That was more telling than anything, because normally he was the last one holding it together. 

With the way the evening had gone, the last thing that Brendon expected was for a shape to be lounging against the lamppost when he had packed up his gear and steeled himself for the walk home, brushing off offers of rides from Spencer and Brent. Instead, Ryan peeled himself out of the shadows and stepped forward waving the keys to his car. “Come on, let’s get home,” he said, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. A moment’s hesitation on Brendon’s part, and Ryan huffed, opening the passenger door and then walking around to the driver’s side. 

“Are you coming or not? Because I really don’t want to wait on your stairs again.” Ryan’s voice floated back around the car and Brendon gave up, dropping into the passenger seat. 

They spent the entire ride back to Brendon’s apartment with the radio turned up so loudly that it made any talking impossible, and Brendon wondered to himself when it had become accepted for them to both go back to his apartment. 

Still without speaking they climbed the stairs, and Brendon went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Bent over to look for the new toothpaste that he knew he’d bought the other day and stashed under the sink, he wasn’t aware of Ryan approaching from behind until suddenly a pair of hands had grabbed his waist and spun him around. 

Vision skewed by the bangs that fell into one eye as he stood, Brendon’s depth perception was off when Ryan yanked him in and kissed him, hard. He overbalanced, and for a few moments they were locked in an awkward, half-falling embrace, until Brendon reached behind him for the countertop and grabbed onto it. Once he was steady, Ryan stepped a bit closer so that they were pressed fully together, and continued about his business of ravishing Brendon’s mouth more thoroughly than anyone had ever done before. 

By the time Ryan pulled away, Brendon was seriously considering either punching Ryan or reevaluating his own claims of heterosexuality. At least, he was until Ryan started working at his belt, carefully keeping his eyes downcast, and muttered, “It’s been a long day. You want to unwind?” 

Then Brendon got it clearly, got that they were just each other’s vessels for de-stressing, so he carefully pushed all of the other thoughts and questions to the back of his mind and barely got out, “Yeah,” before Ryan’s mouth was stretching obscenely around his cock, sliding up and down enthusiastically. 

\----------------------- 

It got to be a pattern, where if one of them were stressed, they would wait until there was a moment of downtime, even though that was increasingly rare between their practices, Brendon’s job, Brendon’s school, and being too tired to stay awake for more than a minute after getting home. When they did have time, though, it was all hand jobs and going down on each other, stifling their moans into the sheets of Brendon’s couch bed, then one of Pete’s guest room mattresses, and finally wherever they could find time alone in the back hallways of a recording studio. 

Sometimes Brendon couldn’t believe he’d actually managed to graduate high school, and he wondered if he would have at all without Ryan’s veiled glances and encouraging touches. 

Eventually it meant Ryan climbing up into Brendon’s top bunk on the bus, and when Brendon said, “But won’t they hear?” Ryan’s reply was, “It won’t sound like anything other than someone getting off. We’ll be quiet.” 

In the morning there were no sideways glances, no questioning eyes, so Brendon assumed Ryan must have been right. All the same, he hadn’t ever managed to shake the idea that the lack of questions meant that maybe this wasn’t the first time Ryan had been in something like whatever it was that they had going, and it ate at him for reasons that he didn’t want to examine too closely. In early October, somewhere along the road from New York to South Carolina, Brendon edged into the back lounge where Spencer was sitting alone, reading. 

Flopping down on the couch beside the other boy, he folded his legs into a pretzel and asked, “Hey Spence?” 

Spencer looked up warily. Brendon wasn’t very good at hiding emotions, and he knew it was obvious that he was nervous now. 

“What did you do?” 

Glowering, Brendon said, “I didn’t do anything. I just had a question. About, um,” 

Meticulously, Spencer closed his book and set it down on the arm of the couch, raising one eyebrow. “You had a question about um?” he repeated, and Brendon got the distinct feeling that he was being laughed at before he’d even gotten to the embarrassing questions. 

Letting out a breath of air, Brendon asked in as cool a manner as possible, “So, have you and Ryan ever been….you know….together?” 

Immediately Spencer’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What??” he coughed, voice sounding strangled. Suddenly Brendon was seized by a fit of giggles, because he had never seen Spencer look so caught off-guard as he did right now, one hand paused in the air, his jaw drooping in shock. “What…Brendon, is this some kind of joke?” he said finally, eyes narrowing as Brendon crossed his arms over his stomach and laughed almost hysterically at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. 

When he had calmed down enough, he said, “No, Spencer, I swear, I’m not joking. Just…have you?” 

“I…what…no,” he sputtered, brushing his bangs back from his face, “Ryan’s like my brother, man, that’s just…why would you even think that…oh!” As though he’d figured something key out, he cocked his head and in a very delicate, understanding tone, he continued, “Brendon, do you have a crush on one of us? Because we’re not…gay.” 

Brendon opened his mouth to explain that he wasn’t gay (really, he wasn’t, it was just this thing that had kind of happened), but Spencer held up a hand and continued, “It’s okay if you are. None of us are going to hold it against you, and it won’t be weird or anything, but Ryan’s straight, and I am too, so it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue anything there. We’re both open and willing to talk to you if you need an ear, though, and we’ll support you no matter what.” 

With Spencer looking so brave, and like he was trying incredibly hard to be open about the idea, Brendon almost felt bad divesting him of it. However, Brendon was worried that if he didn’t say something now, he wouldn’t ever be able to convince Spencer that he was telling the truth later on. “Spence!” he exclaimed, waving his hands in front of Spencer’s face before he could continue on with assuring Brendon that he should use lube, or something equally horrible for both of them to have to talk about, “I’m not gay!” 

Mid-breath, Spencer deflated, softly saying, “What? But then, why would you think that Ryan and I…?” 

“Oh,” Brendon replied, standing up and feeling unexplainably relieved, “No real reason. I was just wondering.” 

He left humming, with Spencer staring slightly agape after him. 

\--------------------- 

Jac was the first one of Ryan’s girlfriends who Brendon actually met. He disliked her on sight, with her pretty, perfect face, platinum blond hair, and the way her eyes strayed to everyone but Ryan when they were out together. Most of all, he hated that whenever Ryan was with her, the guarded look that he normally carried didn’t soften away-he just learned to hide it behind more and more makeup. Brendon told himself that he didn’t want Ryan to get hurt by anything, and Jac was just opening up that possibility. He cared about him the same way that he would have if it were Spencer or Brent. 

All the same, when Audrey offered, Brendon stopped slipping into Ryan’s bunk, and started trying to room with Brent whenever they stopped at a hotel. 

That resolve came to a crashing halt just before Christmas, while they were back at home after the end of the Nintendo Fusion tour, and all starting to itch for the Truckstops and State Lines tour, which wasn’t starting until February. Brendon hadn’t thought that he would start to long for a constantly moving house again, with dubious food and less privacy than his parents’ home, but he did. He was, without a doubt, homesick. 

His bedroom was just as austere as when he’d first gotten back, because he’d been too lazy to unpack at first, and then decided that living out of his suitcase worked just as well when he’d be back on the road in a couple months anyway. It was easier than settling in and then having to uproot again. 

Lying in the middle of his bed, staring at his childhood ceiling, he flipped his Sidekick over and over in one hand, trying to will it to ring as he’d been doing for the last hour or so. Just as he was giving up, flipping over onto his stomach to try to nap for awhile, it began to buzz in his hand. Brendon squinted at the screen, and then flipped it open. A text message from Ryan was scrawled across the screen. 

Hey Bren, what’s up? 

Rolling his eyes, he typed back, Absolutely nothing. Bored out of my mind. You? 

Want to hang out? I could come over. Dad wouldn’t mind. 

Without a doubt of what that meant, Brendon typed back, Yeah, sure. My parents are out, so just let yourself in. 

He half-expected Ryan to show up with a black eye, or some swelled bruise, because generally when Ryan’s dad “wouldn’t mind” if he was out of the house, it meant that the man was drunk and raging. Consequently, when footsteps sounded outside of his door, Brendon looked up anxiously. Ryan, however, looked perfectly normal, although he was toeing the fronts of his shoes together as if he had something on his mind. 

“You going to come in?” Brendon finally queried, and Ryan nodded, coming to sit gingerly beside him. 

They sat in silence, Brendon keeping a hand on his knee so he wouldn’t start bouncing it, and after a minute he started to ask, “Something wrong, Ry?” As he spoke, he turned towards Ryan, concernedly reaching out his free hand for Ryan’s. 

As if it were some kind of invitation, Ryan surged forward, pushing Brendon onto his back and straddling him, panting against his mouth as he pressed his tongue between Brendon’s lips in a hungry, desperate sort of kiss. He mumbled something into the kiss, something that sounded like, “Nothing you don’t fix,” although Brendon wasn’t sure, and when he asked, Ryan wouldn’t repeat it. 

They were both shirtless by the time Brendon’s mind cleared and he pulled back sharply to say, “What about Jac and Audrey? We…both have…” Ryan held a long finger against his mouth, shaking his head. 

“It’s just this thing we have, Brendon. I thought…I mean, it’s not cheating because you were first. This was first, and it’s not even…it’s not like with them, okay?” 

Brendon took one look at Ryan’s expression and told him, “Okay.” 

He came harder than he had in months. 

\-------------------- 

Just as he’d predicted, Jac broke Ryan’s heart, and Brendon broke Audrey’s not even two months later. It was the soonest that he got a chance to actually talk to her for longer than five minutes. 

The first night after Jac had left him, Ryan sought out Brendon and said, “Fuck me. Please,” with such a flat, broken expression that Brendon wanted to say no and couldn’t. 

They were at a little club, being mashed together in the crowd, and Brendon took Ryan by one of his thin wrists and pulled him along after him out to Ryan’s car, waiting in a dark corner of the parking lot. Inside, huddled into the backseat, Brendon pressed a kiss to Ryan’s neck and told him, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

It had been days since Ryan had looked like himself, with the breakup looming for long before it actually happened, but now he smiled slightly. It tore at Brendon, at the corner that he carefully tucked away because it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, because Ryan looked so hopeful, not like the bitter, cynical smile that he’d been wearing almost constantly lately. Hands following the curve of Brendon’s ass, pressing their hips together so that Brendon shuddered and thrust involuntarily, Ryan whispered, “I know you don’t. That’s why we’re doing it this way.” 

“What-” do you mean, he wanted to ask, because Ryan was always so goddamn cryptic, but Ryan cut him off with his mouth and started to undo his pants. 

Brendon was glad that the streetlights were bright, because he loved looking at Ryan’s lean body laid out beneath his own. Ryan was lithe and pale, graceful enough that he looked like he should have been a dancer, and proportioned perfectly from the line of his throat to his cock. Gently Brendon ran his hands up Ryan’s thighs, awkwardly lifting them off the seat to hook them over his shoulders because it seemed like the only way this would work out that he could still watch Ryan, and he might’ve read a little bit about this, just in case. 

For a moment, Ryan looked surprised, but then he nodded. “I have some…um…stuff. Here.” He reached onto the floor, patting around until he’d gotten hold of his jeans, and then withdrew a small bottle from his pocket. 

“You were prepared,” Brendon said, laughing lightly as he covered his fingers and cock with a generous amount of the lubricant. Hand shaking, he pressed a finger to the crease of Ryan’s ass, pressing lightly, but not enough to penetrate. Ryan’s dark-lined eyes were liquid amber around his dilated pupils as he responded, “Maybe. Yeah. I wanted-this. I wanted this.” 

Brendon sucked in a breath and pressed a finger in slowly, watching as Ryan went stiff and clutched at the worn seat. “Are you okay?” he asked, ready to stop, because if Ryan was in pain, then there was nothing at all sexy or desirable about that. 

“I’m fine. Please, just…Brendon, please,” Ryan encouraged through gritted teeth, and because despite the research, Brendon still didn’t know much about the mechanisms of this, he nodded, slid his finger out, and aligned his cock. 

This time when he pushed in, Ryan actually whimpered, but grabbed Brendon by the shoulders and pulled at him, chanting, “Brendon, Brendon, don’t stop, you fucker.” 

That was all it took for Brendon to continue until he couldn’t anymore, rocking his hips and trying not to go too hard. It was almost impossible, because Ryan felt so fucking good, and he reached down to wrap his hand around Ryan’s cock, hard and already leaking. When he dragged his eyes back to Ryan’s face, Ryan had his head thrown back, sucking in and gusting out air, which almost pushed Brendon over the edge right there. 

Instead, he started blabbering, unable to control what was coming out of his mouth because this much Ryan was a sensory overload that, in the moment, he couldn’t even pretend was only about the sex. “Ryan, god, Ryan, oh fuck. You’re-Ryan, this is so fucking-ohh, god.” 

In the end, all it took was a squeeze from Ryan’s legs, still tightly clasped over his shoulders, which pushed Brendon the final step, and he came without pulling out, voice breaking on Ryan’s name. It only took another few jerks before Ryan was coming too. 

\-------------------- 

“Fuck you, Brendon, do you even care that we’re breaking up?” 

“Of course I care, Audrey. I just don’t know what you want me to say. What am I supposed to do? It’s just not working, you know that as well as I do. 

Audrey could glare daggers, and she was doing so now, trying to level Brendon with her narrowed eyes, strands of hair in alternating colors framing her petite face and tumbling over her perfect breasts. It was an utterly gorgeous picture, with the moon glinting off of her nose ring as they stood outside the back of the venue that Panic! had just played in Anaheim, California, finally close enough to her new career in the Hollywood modeling scene for Audrey to come and watch them, and for Brendon to break up with her. 

“It’s not working because you aren’t working, Brendon.” 

“Aud, I wanted to do this. You’re…I did want you. I do. But we’ve been barely hanging on to this.” 

He’d tried with Audrey-he really had, no matter what she said. Apparently, though, wanting to want to be with someone just wasn’t enough. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t be with someone who he looked through instead of at. It wasn’t fair to either of them, especially when it was for reasons that he didn’t know how to name. 

“Oh, that is fucking rich. You want me? Give me a break. You don’t care about anything or anyone other than your fucking band. Just like Ryan. That’s why his relationship went to shit, you know? Because he was always too busy with Spencer or…or you, to even try. You’re just like him. It’s always, Ryan this, Ryan that. Why don’t you just go fuck yourself on his prick?” 

She was practically yelling now, but Brendon could see that tears were collecting at the corners of her eyes, too. Shaking his head, he whispered, “Audrey, I’m sorry,” and when he opened his arms, she came into them, laying her head on his shoulder and sobbing. She didn’t pull away for a few minutes, and when she did, her face was streaked with mascara, and she was still beautiful. Brendon’s heart clenched, and he thought, Maybe I could take her back. 

Then he looked past her, to where through the windows he could see Brent lounging in a corner, and Ryan and Spencer bent together close by, laughing at some private conversation. Spencer’s head was tilted down, but Ryan’s was tossed back, light playing over his forehead and Adam’s apple to give him a golden glow, and knew that he wasn’t going to change his mind about Audrey. 

In that few seconds that his attention was distracted, she turned and followed his gaze. Biting her lip, she said, “I see. Goodbye, Brendon.” 

“Audrey, you know you can always call, or…” 

“Goodbye, Brendon Urie.” 

Her body silhouetted in the dim light, she walked away, hips swaying. Brendon ran a hand through his hair and then jammed both hands into his pockets as he went back into the club and dropped down heavily between Ryan and Brent. “Audrey and I broke up,” he said flatly, completely breaking into the conversation that they were having, and not really caring. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and Brent told him he was sorry, Spencer frowned sympathetically and said acidly, though honestly, “Well, no one saw that coming. But I hope you’re okay.” 

Ryan just looked at the table, chewing on his lip as if that would hide the way that he was smiling. 

\----------------------  
Part Two

 

unphoenix (unphoenix) wrote,  
2008-01-18 20:36:00  
Previous Share Next  
fic: I Thought (2/2)  
Title: I Thought  
Word Count: 14,387  
Rating: R, possibly NC-17  
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, though the canon girlfriends make an appearance  
Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned these boys they would not be doing each other. Also, if this is true, then I'm going to have to see if I can read other peoples' minds as well.  
Summary: In the beginning, the Thing that Brendon and Ryan start up isn't supposed to be anything other than a way to relax and unwind. After awhile, Brendon stops being sure what it actually is, and what either of them want.  
Notes: So, on a note that has nothing to do with this story first, my old LJ was

qtiphawaii, and I've posted fic from that username before. This is the account I'm using now.

On a separate note....what? 14,387 words? When I started this fic, I was thinking maybe, oh, 5,000 or so. I'm really not sure what happened in the intervening time, but obviously something did, and this is the result.

Part One

 

As much as it fascinated Brendon to watch while Ryan drew his whorls and lines of make-up in bright designs around his honey eyes, trailing down to his sharp cheekbones, he liked just as much to see Ryan wash it off. Putting the make-up on made Ryan into his stage persona, even more inscrutable than he normally was. When it came back off, a thin layer of his walls came down too, and Brendon could fit himself just a little closer.

The night that Spencer called Brent to tell him that it was over, Ryan drew thickly around his eyes with purple liner, and layered on foundation and eye shadow so heavily that Brendon wondered if he could feel the extra weight on his face. The three boys huddled closely on the bed, Spencer’s knuckles white around the Sidekick, and Ryan proudly straight-backed next to him, staring steadfastly at the bedspread.

At first Brendon stayed near them, not touching, but their carefully blank expressions were too much for him. He crawled closer, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s shaking torso and steepling his legs protectively over Spencer’s lower body as Brent began to shout, “Ryan, this is your band. Say something! Fucking tell me yourself. You assholes. Brendon, you never shut up, but what, when it’s actually serious you can’t even—”

His voice, distorted by the speakerphone, was cut off as Spencer ended the call. Mouth cottony, Brendon suggested, “Let’s all stay together tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan whispered back, staring at his hands where they were clasped in his lap near Brendon’s chest.

“I’ll go get my stuff,” Spencer agreed, standing to walk quickly towards the door, across the hall to where his bag was sitting neatly in the room he was meant to share with Brent that night.

The door closed behind him, and Brendon rolled back onto his knees. “Ryan,” he said, tipping the other boy’s chin up with two fingers. Finally Ryan met his gaze, jaw set and walls firmly in place. “Ryan,” he repeated calmly, trying to call him back from wherever it was that he went to when he was protecting himself.

That expression was familiar to Brendon, too familiar.

Slowly Ryan’s eyes softened, and he unlocked his fingers, clinging to Brendon’s waist instead, like a lifeline. Brendon moved forward on instinct, slowly, brushing his lips against Ryan’s forehead, cheeks, eyelids—not his lips, because he still seemed too far away and poorly mended. Finally Ryan let go, tilting his head enough to press a butterfly-soft kiss against Brendon’s mouth and say, “Thanks.”

By the time Spencer got back, Ryan and Brendon were both standing over the sink, as Ryan washed the make-up from his eyes, and Brendon rinsed the glitter and powder off of his own lips.

\-------------------

“Can we change the title of one of our songs with the album already out?” Brendon mused aloud to his Red Bull.

Across the table, Spencer cocked an eyebrow, Ryan instantly replied, “No,” without looking up, and Jon asked, “Which one?”

Grinning, Brendon replied, “I kind of want to make it, ‘I Constantly Thank God For Jon Walker,’ seeing as how you’re kind of our savior and all.”

The other three all laughed, and Jon shook his head indulgently. “How about, ‘I Constantly Thank God For Disney?’” he suggested.

Brendon laughed, and shot a purposeful look across the table. Conspiratorially, he stage-whispered, “I suggested that way back at the beginning. For some reason no one else liked it.” Jon grinned.

“You think he’s kidding,” Ryan said sardonically, but under the table there was a light kick, and then a socked foot twining in between Brendon’s. Above the table Ryan was still smirking, hair a straight curtain in front of one eye, and drumming his fingers on his notebook. Despite it being the middle of summer, his hands were still encased in fingerless gloves, which he insisted were comfortable no matter what time of year it was. Brendon insisted that he was delusional.

Jon’s grin just widened. “Oh, I have no doubt that he’s serious,” he replied, and winked at Brendon. On cue, they both launched into A Whole New World, reminiscent of the first time that they’d met, several months before. From then on, Brendon had had a bit of a hero worship complex when it came to Jon. Luckily, Jon was nice enough not to exploit it most of the time.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Ryan moaned, rolling his eyes as he went back to writing in his notebook, and Spencer told him, “I’m texting Haley to come save us from the Disney oppression.”

As they finished, Brendon told no one in particular, “See, that’s why we have to change that song title.” 

Even without discussing it, Brendon was pretty sure that he, Ryan, and Spencer were all agreed that Jon couldn’t ever leave. He’d slipped in with them as though he was always meant to be there, letting Brendon be a kid when he needed to, withstanding Spencer’s bitching to the point of actually getting him into a good mood again, and teasing Ryan until he laughed openly, the way he did with Spencer and Brendon.

Sometimes Brendon thought that he would be utterly content if he could just stay in the bus forever, playing video games with Jon, lying on Spencer’s stomach watching movies, and watching Ryan try to hide the doodle of the Magic Carpet with Aladdin and Jasmine on it, or holding his hand as moonlight slanted across his face in his bunk, or when he told Brendon to fuck off, he was working, but then showed up later with eyes that made Brendon feel needed.

Sometimes he wondered when Ryan had gotten to be the center of his life, and if it was going to turn into a problem.

\-------------------

The next day, before their set at Reading, Brendon was absolutely buzzing with energy for no real reason. The summer was ending, and they had a world headlining tour to look forward to in the winter. Bouncing into Ryan’s dressing room, he found the other boy scowling at the mirror petulantly. “I hate festivals,” Ryan told the mirror as he carefully added to the blue that was radiating outward from his eyes.

Since the mirror seemed unlikely to respond, Brendon said, “I know you do. I think it’s going to be great.”

Darkly Ryan muttered, “There are no great festivals.” He turned to face Brendon, eyes carefully shrouded by his make-up.

Offering a smile, and trying not to have his own enthusiasm dampened by Ryan’s mood, Brendon suggested, “I could help you calm down.” Those were basically the key words, and they weren’t even necessary that much anymore. Their…Thing(Brendon still refused to classify it further in his head) didn’t require a whole lot of “please”s or “maybe we could”s lately, but once in awhile they still threw them in. It wasn’t so much that Brendon thought Ryan wouldn’t want to anymore. It was more that he was afraid Ryan would figure out why Brendon still did.

Tonight, however, Ryan looked at the make-up stick still in his hand and said, “No.” Brendon, who had already crossed most of the space between them and pushed the door shut, stopped mid-stride.

“What?” he asked, taken aback.

Twirling the eyeliner, Ryan muttered, “You’ll mess up my make-up. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

After working his mouth for a minute, Brendon managed, “Fine. See you onstage.”

Scowling, he returned to his own dressing room to reflect on how Ryan could manage to twist his mood from Bright and Bubbly to Dour and Disappointed, complete with capital letters, in under five minutes. 

They’d barely launched into The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage when the bottle slammed into the side of Brendon’s face. He reeled, vision going starry and then blacking out dramatically, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the stage surrounded by people.

As he started to sit up, something throbbed in his temple, and he moaned pitifully. Someone was talking just above him—Jon. Jon was holding out his hand, waving three fingers in his face and asking calmly, “Brendon. Bren. How many fingers are there? Brendon?” Just behind his shoulder Spencer was crouched, a litany of, “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Oh my god,” slipping past his lips as he let Jon and the first-aid crew do their work. Ryan was the only one missing.

Craning his neck, he looked across the stage to where Ryan was standing frozen behind his guitar. On cue, they met eyes, and Ryan almost stumbled as he lifted the guitar strap from around his neck and practically flew across the stage. He was next to Brendon in moments, grabbing one of Brendon’s hands and asking hoarsely, “Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?”

One of the first-aid personnel actually laughed, quickly winding down when Ryan and Spencer turned identical bitchfaces on him. If he hadn’t still been prone, Brendon might have laughed at that. Instead he listened as the man, face chagrinned, replied, “Mr. Urie is just fine. It doesn’t look like he has a concussion; he was just knocked out, and will have some impressive bruising.”

Immediately about six pairs of hands started trying to help Brendon up, including Zach, who materialized in enough time to push the superfluous people out of the way and steady Brendon on his feet. The only person he couldn’t seem to get to take his hands off of Brendon was Ryan, and after one look at Ryan’s set jaw, Brendon understood why Zach didn’t bother to keep trying.

Leaning against him to catch his breath, Brendon smiled at Ryan and muttered, “Fucking festivals, huh?”

In response, Ryan threw his arms around Brendon’s waist, hugging him hard and whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry. I was afraid—I’m sorry.”

Patting Ryan’s back, Brendon started to wonder which one of them the bottle had hit harder. Aloud, he said, “I’m going to look so tough!” over Ryan’s shoulder, the words accompanied by a bright grin calculated to draw the answering ones from Spencer and Jon.

Although Ryan smacked his back (very gently) he pulled away, smiling softly in response, and when Brendon insisted they finish the set, he was feeling good enough again to challenge, “You can’t take me out! Let’s see how well you guys do with my left side!”

That night, Ryan insisted on rooming with him, and when they fell asleep tangled together without having done anything else first, Brendon nuzzled into his chest and hoped he didn’t have to move from here for the rest of his life.

\-----------------------

Most of the issue that Brendon had with Keltie came from the fact that it was pretty hard to actually dislike her. As soon as he met her at the VMAs, four days after the Reading and Leeds Festival, he knew that she was going to claim Ryan. She was Ryan’s perfect girl—tiny, blond, gorgeous—Brendon didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t expecting it. Besides, being aware shielded him the tiniest bit from how much it hurt to see Ryan’s shy, blinding smiles directed at her when he held her hand and introduced her to Brendon.

“You’re jumping into this awfully fast, Ry. How do you know she’s not going to end up like Jac?” Brendon, in the adjoining hotel room with the door just barely open, fought with himself briefly over whether or not to listen. Giving in to the temptation was almost too easy, but he only felt mildly guilty. He could hear the bite in Spencer’s voice, but it was really poorly veiled protectiveness. Brendon was stupidly thankful that there was a Spencer to ask what he couldn’t.

When Ryan answered, it was in his usual monotone. “I just know. You’ve barely talked to her; you wouldn’t understand.”

Spencer, Brendon thought, is probably starting up an angry staring contest with Ryan right now.

“I wouldn’t understand about knowing someone is right? No, Ryan, it’s not like I’ve been in a stable relationship for the past six months. What do I know?”

Ryan sighed audibly. “You just don’t get it. She’s not going to hurt me like…like Jac.”

That’s where Brendon would have left it, if he were the one talking to Ryan. Apparently Spencer had no qualms about pressing farther. “What’s this actually about, Ryan? Is this really all about the girl you just met? I met her too, you know, and yeah, it looks like she fits the profile for your dream girl, but haven’t they all? Who are you trying to prove something to? Are you trying to show yourself you can be happy, or is this about Jac? You’re one-upping her, or—”

Brendon winced at the same time that Ryan cut Spencer off. “Shut up.” Now his voice was rising, inflecting, and Brendon desperately wanted to go and hold him. “Spence, you—you don’t—I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. Keltie is making me fucking happy!”

“Okay. Okay.” Spencer sounded tired, defeated. “That’s what I wanted to make sure of. You deserve to be happy and have what you want. I just wanted to be sure you knew that too.”

Haltingly, Ryan replied, “I—yeah. I know,” with the anger gone from his voice. Their voices dropped too low for Brendon to hear anymore, no matter how much he strained.

A few minutes passed with Brendon staring in silence at his hands. Ryan deserved this—deserved Keltie, with her ability to make him happy and normal, rather than a fucked-up friends-with-benefits deal that his partner was starting to take more seriously than he was meant to.

By the time Ryan came padding into the other room, brushing the door open without giving the appearance of noticing that it was already partly open, Brendon was having trouble swallowing. He smiled guardedly as Ryan came over to the couch and curled up besides him. Somehow, even with all his long limbs and lanky torso, he could fold himself up to fit against Brendon perfectly. Brendon thought it may have come from years of practice, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around the thin boy’s shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he observed, and felt Ryan shrug.

Another eternity later, just as Brendon was starting to drift into a semi-aware state that wasn’t quite sleep, Ryan’s voice reached his ears and tugged him back. “You heard me and Spence before.”

There was no doubt in his voice, so Brendon just shrugged without denying it. “Maybe,” he admitted.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Ryan whispered, and Brendon’s heart was definitely beating in his throat now. “Is there anything to take a break from?” he asked, more harshly than he was intended, but the words were out before he could take them back. 

When Ryan unwound himself, looking up at Brendon with hard, guarded eyes, he finally shook his head. “No. I guess there isn’t.”

Despite the fact that Brendon had an easy out there, he couldn’t bite back that words that spilled out, thinking about Ryan’s eyes, Ryan’s hands, RyanRyanRyan and how he’d never belonged to Brendon, no matter how hard he held Ryan’s hips, or how many stolen kisses. “Remember, it didn’t mean anything, it was just a way to unwind.” He stood, and didn’t look at Ryan as he stripped off his shirt and crawled into one of the hotel beds.

The whole time that Ryan was getting ready for bed, Brendon lay still under the covers, trying to pitch his breathing so that he sounded asleep. The only real problem was that he didn’t know what that would sound like. All the same, apparently Ryan bought it, because he didn’t say anything else before turning off the light and falling asleep almost instantly.

Brendon pretended he wasn’t disappointed that Ryan could give up without a fight.

\------------------

No matter what they told the fans, the media, and Pete Wentz (although Brendon had the suspicion that Ryan had told Pete the truth at Thanksgiving anyway, even though he swore up and down that he hadn’t. Pete looked too sympathetic as they flew back home, though, to not know something. Then again, it was Pete, so maybe he’d just guessed), the introduction to Lying that they began to use on their Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour wasn’t premeditated. It just…happened, one of the first nights of the tour.

Ryan was across the stage, hat pulled down over his eyes, green swirls and upside-down black hearts all over the top part of his face, and suddenly Brendon just lost it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was starting his narrative, heading towards Ryan. Onstage, he could assume this new persona, and he could actually tell Ryan something. 

“Have you ever had a dream,” he began, and could just feel the confused looks coming from the rest of his band. It didn’t stop him. “…where you were running through a sunflower field with clouds dancing across a crystal blue sky?” He paused, but was pretty sure that it was too late to go back now, so he just pressed forward. “Your lover's running towards you, the wind’s whipping through your lovely lavish locks…”

His feet had been moving without his consent, similarly to his mouth, and now he was just in front of Ryan, tangling a hand in his hair. Ryan just stared at him, lips slightly parted and eyes narrowed. “You reach to your lover…for that first passionate kiss!” Brendon was practically crooning, leaning in so close to Ryan that the sound of both of them breathing was audible in the microphone, before suddenly straightening and snapping back, striding across to center stage again and snarling, “This is not that dream. This is hard, sweaty, crazy, angry, monstrous fucking.”

After the show, he escaped into the shower before any of his band could catch him to ask him what the hell he’d been doing up there, pulling a stunt like that. He didn’t think he had an answer, and his head was pounding so loudly that it took him a minute to realize that someone had walked into the bathroom without bothering to knock.

Even through the frosted glass, Spencer was impossible to mistake. Of course it’s Spencer, Brendon thought wildly, who else would it be?

“Brendon, you asshole, what the fuck were you thinking up there?”

“Um, I’m showering, Spencer,” Brendon replied.

“I don’t fucking care if you’re having a shower orgy,” Spencer snapped, and Brendon giggled a little because even though Spencer sounded like he wanted to kill kittens, he was still talking about orgies. “What was that?”

“I just…” he floundered for words, finally settling on, “Ryan comes up with crazy make-up designs and lyrics. I just….came up with a stage show addition.”

“You just came up with a stage show addition?” Spencer had a way of repeating things so that was somehow more intimidating than if he’d actually been threatening Brendon.

“Yes,” he replied, in a much smaller voice.

Outside, Spencer leaned against the wall and sighed. “Look, Bren, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ryan—”

“Nothing’s going on!” Brendon said quickly, mentally noting that there was the possibility that Spencer was actually psychic and just hadn’t told them.

As if he hadn’t heard, Spencer continued, “but if you’re going to be making any more additions like that, we’d all like to be fucking in on it. Okay?”

Reaching up to turn off the water, unable to articulate how he hadn’t meant to make up his own script until it was too late, Brendon said, “Okay.”

The narrative ended up staying in, mostly because the fans loved it. Ryan played it off as nothing, adding more makeup every day, Jon just raised his eyebrows on occasion, and Brendon felt a little more sick every time he said it.

\----------------------

Over time, as impossible as it seemed, Brendon started to forget the taste of Ryan’s skin beneath his tongue, and the way he sounded when he was trying to stifle a moan. The only thing that wouldn’t completely leave him were Ryan’s eyes just after coming, when they were all soft and open, giving Brendon the key to himself maybe without even meaning to.

He wouldn’t have ever told Ryan, but he liked him better once the straight iron and the make-up stopped being everyday necessities. His clothes didn’t exactly get less ridiculous, but they changed to a kind of odd that was less forced, like maybe Ryan was comfortable in them and liked them for more reasons than that they made him look like an elaborately beautiful china doll. Brendon had always liked Ryan best when he didn’t look perfect.

The winter went by, and they were packing for the cabin before he could believe it. Sometimes Brendon missed Ryan so badly that it actually hurt, deep in his chest, aching and tearing. He would lie in his bed in the mountains, waiting to hear the door creak open, knowing it wasn’t going to, but waiting anyway. In the morning he’d berate himself for his foolishness, but it was easier to hope in the dark.

The first album that they started trying to write was all Ryan. He wouldn’t show them anything until he was completely satisfied, which meant that not only was it not a joint effort, but by the time his words made it to daylight, he was too stubbornly set on them to change anything. It made for high tempers and a few near-fist-fights, until they were all on edge.

On the fourth of July, Jon left for a few hours and came back with an armload of sparklers and various explosives, grinning widely above his scruffy beard. They spent the evening trying not to burn hamburgers on the grill, and then setting off the fireworks over the swimming hole.

Brendon was most fascinated by the sparklers. He hadn’t ever gotten them as a kid, and he couldn’t contain himself, running around on the lawn drawing shapes in the air. At one point he tripped on a rock and almost fell into the water, and Spencer laughed so hard that he started to cough and had to have Jon smack him on the back a few times. After that, Brendon was more careful, but not any less enthusiastic.

Once they’d lit the last fuse, they slowly made their way back up to the porch, and all four of them piled onto the porch swing. Brendon’s toes were underneath Jon’s thighs, he had one hand in Ryan’s hair, and his shoulder was braced against Spencer. Someone sighed, and he let his head fall back, looking at the splinted wood of the porch cover above him and thinking that this was so much more right than they’d been in months.

“Guys.” Ryan’s voice came out of nowhere, and everyone tilted towards him a little more, “Let’s scrap the album. Let’s start over. It’s supposed to be…us. Not…just me. This is what I want.” He spread his arms, encompassing everything Brendon had just been thinking.

“Okay, Ry,” Spencer replied quietly, fondly. Jon nodded, like he’d been waiting for this all along.

Brendon smiled slightly and started to hum under his breath, that cheesy song “That’s What Friends Are For,” but no one made a move to stop him. Instead, Ryan’s hand crept up to grip Brendon’s, his hair still caught between them, and said, “Yeah.”

\-----------------

The album actually started to fall into place this time around. Brendon started haunting the blender in the kitchen, because the first time he was making a smoothie (something he hadn’t done since he’d quit his minimum wage job) and Ryan wandered by, Ryan had stopped and smiled slightly, coming in to sit on the counter and read to Brendon from his lyrics notebook, just like in the beginning. Most of the time he could even ignore how they were obviously about Keltie.

Before any of them knew it, summer turned into winter again and they were in, “Fucking London, guys, fucking Abbey Road Studios!” Brendon couldn’t help but yell for the thousandth time, pumping his arm like a winning prizefighter as they checked into their hotel. He leapt on Jon, clinging like a monkey. Jon took it in stride, grabbing onto him and hoisting him higher on his back while they pressed the elevator button.

“I know, I know!” Jon shouted back.

“Dude, I would so be Paul McCartney,” Brendon boasted, leaning into the wall behind him to take some weight off of Jon and simultaneously pose his arms over his head.

“Oh yeah?” Jon asked, and Brendon nodded. “Spence is Ringo, obviously, because hello, drums and a ridiculous moustache,” he laughed, ducking behind Jon’s head to dodge a punch, “Jon, you’re John Lennon, and not just because of the names. I mean, you’re like….older, and just kind of awesome. I’m obviously Paul, the talented, heartthrob singer. Oh and, um…Ryan can be George. Because they do have the same name.”

Making a face, Ryan protested, “John and Paul did most of the writing, though.”

“Nah, let him be Paul,” Spencer suggested, “that’d make him the Walrus. And we’d all be the pallbearers, from the Abbey Road picture.”

“Well, here’s another clue for you all, the Walrus was Paul,” Brendon sang, grinning. “Spencer Smith, you’re just jealous because you’d be the undertaker.”

The elevator dinged, door sliding open, and Brendon hopped down from Jon’s back as they split up towards their separate rooms. Their coin flip had landed Brendon with Ryan, and as they walked into their room, Brendon watched Ryan turn off his Sidekick.

“That’s rare,” he noted, raising his eyebrows.

Ryan shrugged. “I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone else right now,” he explained, and then in his characteristically nervous way, ducking his head, “I can’t believe we’re actually recording here.”

Brendon smiled widely, opening his arms to fall back against starched hotel covers. “We’re going to be legends,” he said, shutting his eyes and trying to picture the future.

As a result, he was completely unprepared for the bed to dip, and a familiar-new pair of lips to meet his. Before he could push Ryan away, the kiss was over, Ryan mumbling, “I’m worried we still won’t be good enough, what if…what’s wrong?”

Brendon continued to stare at his friend in shock. It had been over a year since this had last happened, since Keltie, and suddenly it was as if they’d never left off. After another thirty seconds of merely gaping, he managed to say, “Ryan…what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Deflating, Ryan sat up on his knees next to Brendon, who quickly scrambled into a sitting position as well. “I just thought…I mean, we both probably need to work off some energy and nerves, so, you know.”

Brendon wanted so badly to give in. He wanted to say, Of course, Ryan, let’s keep going, I’ve never wanted anything else, but he was offended enough by Ryan’s presumption for logic to win out, for once. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I can’t do that for you anymore.”

Next to him, Ryan tensed, fingers curling in the bedspread. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully, as though there was any doubt at all.

Offense morphed into violent anger, and Brendon rolled his eyes dramatically. “Stop it, Ryan. Drop the pretend games, okay? You spend over a year fucking me whenever it’s convenient for you, and then as soon as you discover Keltie, you run to her. You know, Keltie, your girlfriend, who you were just about to cheat on. Even aside from that, you drop me for a fucking year and a half, and then expect me to just be waiting around for you to come back because you need something again? It can’t work like that.”

Eyes wide, Ryan replied, “I told you it didn’t have to mean anything. It could just be fucking for, you know, stress relief.”

That just served to make Brendon more furious, and god, this was worse than the last time, after Ryan and Keltie were first together. It wasn’t so much that Ryan was trying to cheat on Keltie, or maybe that he’d been openly cheating on Brendon (Brendon didn’t even know anymore), but that he didn’t get it, and willfully refused to get it. In frustration, Brendon punched the headboard of his bed.

“Well, maybe it should have meant something. Or—oh, fuck,” he finished, realizing what he’d just said, “Look, I just can’t do this.”

When he glanced over at Ryan again, Ryan was watching him with an expression that had the audacity to look not only thoughtful, but hurt, as well. Brendon hadn’t seen him look so honest and open when his expression was directed towards Brendon in over a year. Internally he squirmed, wanting to be anywhere but here, to hear what Ryan could possibly say in response that wouldn’t make him want to die even more.

“Brendon,” Ryan said, softly and insistently, “Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you wanted? I never…”

Stung and confused, Brendon blinked at him. “Why didn’t—Ryan, think about what you told me about it not mattering! Every time!”

“Well, it did matter. I didn’t think you wanted it to.”

It felt like Brendon’s whole world was unraveling, and he wondered if he was actually hallucinating Ryan sitting there, hunched over and miserable, looking as young as when they’d been first signed, again. Brendon supposed that he had Keltie to thank for making Ryan into someone who (other than right now) wasn’t afraid anymore to be happy, and put down his makeup. That was what made the whole situation so ethereal.

“But you never even asked. Not one single time,” he said shortly, shaking his head. Something was tearing open inside of him, a scar that he thought he’d patched up most of the way, and he suddenly understood with frightening clarity what people meant when they talked about missed opportunities.

“What was I supposed to say, Brendon? You were straight!”

“Yeah, well, so were you! And now it’s too late.”

Both of them broke off, breathing heavily. Ryan looked as if he’d been struck between the eyes, which was pretty much how Brendon felt. Slowly, Ryan’s eyes slid down from Brendon’s, and very softly he queried, “Is it? Too late, I mean.”

Soft words from the back seat of a car rang in his head, taking on a new meaning.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I know you don’t. That’s why we’re doing it this way.”

“What—“

Brendon was biting his tongue so hard that he had just started to taste the coppery tang of blood when he pried his jaws apart and replied, “Yeah. It’s too late. There’s Keltie, and…the band. All of this stuff between us. It’s too late.”

“Oh. I see.” Ryan’s voice sounded so ragged that Brendon thought there had to be sandpaper rubbing over the inside of it. “I’m sorry, but…I’m going to go see if I can switch with Jon for tonight.” 

By the time he was done speaking, he was already halfway across the room. “Wait,” Brendon tried to say, but it came out as little more than a croak, and Ryan didn’t even turn around on his way out the door.

Sometime later he heard Jon come in, but he was already under the covers with the lights off and his clothes still on. Jon’s footsteps tapped across the floor, and then there was a warm, solid body sliding into bed with him, wrapping his arms securely around Brendon. Involuntarily, tears formed up in his eyes, and before he could stop himself, he’d turned around to sob into Jon’s shoulder.

\-----------------

In the studio, it was almost like normal. Ryan snapped orders at everyone, and if he was more brusque than usual, no one outside the band seemed to notice or comment. When they were on their own, it was worse than Brendon had expected, now that they all knew (thought what all they knew, he wasn’t completely certain of. He never asked).

He’d been prepared for sympathetic eyes and hugs from Jon, an icy silence from Spencer, and total avoidance from Ryan. What he got was far worse. Jon acted pretty much as expected, teasing them all, but reserving moments of quiet comfort. Spencer stood at Ryan’s side and gave Brendon disappointed, sad looks, and Ryan. Ryan was there constantly. He kept himself practically glued to Brendon, but barely talking, like he was afraid he was about to be kicked but still wanted to be there.

The worst part was when Spencer sidled up to him near the end of recording and hissed, “He’s trying to still be your friend. You could at least give him that.” Brendon didn’t know how to respond, because there was nothing in the world that he wanted more, other than maybe to restart this whole mess and handle it differently. Besides, since when was this his fault?

In March, in Germany, they got offstage after a show and Brendon was starting to complain to Jon about Ryan taking too long in the shower. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Jon said softly, “Well, he is kind of down, you know?”

Brendon looked blankly back at him, because it had been two months, and they were starting to get more comfortable with one another. They could actually have conversations again, instead of just stumbling over words and making small talk about the landmarks, so he was confused as he asked uncertainly, “Why, didn’t he think the show went well?”

Jon looked just as surprised as Brendon. “No, I mean, because of Keltie. They…Bren, they broke up two days ago, over the phone.”

Suddenly Brendon felt like the world’s biggest asshole, and the universe’s greatest idiot, because one of his best friends had just broken up with his girlfriend, it was probably at least partly his fault, and he hadn’t even known about it. “Oh,” he replied, and left the room.

\-----------------

The day the album dropped, Pete threw a “family gathering” that, of course, consisted of all the bands on his label, and then some. Brendon was pretty sure that he would’ve enjoyed it a lot more if the party hadn’t been for his CD, because by the second hour, he was altogether sick of being congratulated and told, “Dude, fucking awesome album,” (Joe), “Kickass job, seriously, it’s the shit,” (Ryland, with Alex propped on his shoulder), “Fantastic job, babe,” (Greta), “The Cobra must have been strong with you during the making of this masterpiece,” (Gabe), “Brenny, with that sound you are welcome in my bedroom any day,” (William), and various other permutations of essentially the same thing. The last two actually frightened him, because he was pretty sure they were serious.

By the third hour, he’d managed to seclude himself in a corner with Gerard Way, of all people, who was there with the rest of his band and all their wives/girlfriends, since they were one of the non-Decaydance bands that had merited an invitation. When Gerard had first wandered past he’d stopped to stare at Brendon with his disturbingly wide eyes, and Brendon had to keep himself from making a face, instead planning a new way to say, “Thank you for the support.”

Instead of congratulating him, Gerard had tilted his head to one side and said, “Wow. I love your shirt. It reminds me of vampires, dude,” and Brendon had spontaneously decided that My Chemical Romance was his new favourite band. Besides, it turned out that Gerard was pretty cool when he wasn’t being really creepy.

This had led to them sitting out of the way of everyone else, because apparently Gerard wasn’t a huge social butterfly, and while Brendon normally was, he was dying for actual conversation enough that he didn’t mind at all. He hadn’t seen his band for most of the night, because Pete had dragged Ryan off the moment they stepped in the door, and Spencer had followed along, hovering protectively to make sure that Pete’s intentions were pure, or some shit like that. Jon had been accosted by The Academy Is, and occasionally Brendon could hear him laughing even from across the room as they played some kind of drinking game.

Before him, Gerard was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, divulging a long monologue about the pros and cons of the television versions of classic comics, which was actually surprisingly interesting, when a shadow was thrown across them. Brendon looked up warily, only to find that it was Ryan biting his lip and shuffling his foot against the rug in an endearingly awkward way.

“Hey, Bren, could I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, and Brendon nodded immediately.

“Thank you so much for saving me, Gerard,” he earnestly told the other singer first, and was rewarded by a wide, dorky grin before he set a hand on the small of Ryan’s back and followed him, weaving through the crowd until they got to a hallway and were able to duck away from the laughter and jostling voices.

“What’s up?” Brendon asked, studying Ryan. They’d gotten to the point where casual touches didn’t cause either of them to flinch anymore, so Brendon set a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, lightly, questioningly.

Ryan’s face twisted into something reminiscent of a smile, and when Brendon smiled back, turned into the real thing. “I hadn’t really gotten to talk to you at all tonight, and I just thought I’d tell you how glad I am that we’ve stuck together through….everything. This is worth it, and I’m…really happy.”

Although he knew that Ryan didn’t mean it that way, Brendon couldn’t help but think, Getting this album out and keeping the band together by threads at some points was worth losing the “us” that was almost there? The answer to that was probably “yes” anyway. Brendon could tell that Ryan was trying to apologize, but what he wanted right now wasn’t an apology, it was…well, it was what he’d always wanted, no matter how much he’d tried to deny it.

With no response from Brendon, Ryan had started to turn away, his smile fading slightly. “Well, that’s all, it was just something I’ve wanted to say.”

“Hang on, don’t run off.” Brendon watched him pause, shoulders tensing, and then turn back. “Yeah?”

Stepping in close so that Ryan was almost pressed up against the wall and Brendon was definitely crowding his space more than he ought to have been, Brendon shut his eyes for a second to catch his breath and then said tightly, “I was wrong.”

He saw a flash of something that might have been hope in Ryan’s eyes, as the taller boy asked, “About what?”

“About us…this. It wasn’t too late. It’s not. For me. It’s never…it’s always been you, Ryan, and I was just being selfish before. I didn’t want to be a back-up plan. Besides, I wanted you to be happy, and Keltie always seemed to make you happy. I couldn’t get in the way of that if—”

“Oh my god, Brendon. Shut up already.” Actually relieved that he’d been cut off, because he’d dissolved into rambling, Brendon noted that Ryan was fighting not to smile now. “Brendon, didn’t you listen to me when I was with Jac? You were never my fucking back-up plan. Even with Keltie. She was absolutely amazing. I loved her, and that should have been everything I wanted, except that I couldn’t get over the fact that she wasn’t you. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Okay, so Ryan?” Brendon was full-out grinning now, sure that his cheeks were about to crack and then split right open from the force, “I’m going to kiss you now, and this time, it really does have to mean something.”

Closing the few inches left between them was so easy, and felt so right. It wasn’t as if they’d never kissed before, but this time was more electric, less painful and terrifying, and Brendon’s stomach swooped as Ryan’s mouth opened beneath his. He slid his hands down to Ryan’s wrists, holding them against the wall with his thumbs pressed into the words inked onto them, and when he slipped a thigh between Ryan’s slightly-spread legs, Ryan gave an uncharacteristically loud moan that Brendon swallowed eagerly.

They’d just gotten into it, nipping and biting at one another’s mouths, when behind him Brendon heard a whoop, and then William yelling loudly, “Pete, I found Rossy for you! He’s been busy celebrating!”

Reluctantly, Brendon drew back slightly, laughing at how Ryan was completely red, but still trying to keep a dignified expression on his face. About two seconds later, Pete crashed into the hallway with half of Decaydance in tow, looking like he’d just won the lottery. “Finally!” he announced, with the cheesiest grin Brendon had ever seen, bar none, “It’s about fucking time, you idiots!”

Brendon moved to the side so that he was next to Ryan, casually slinging an arm around his waist, and touching his own swollen lips with his other hand. With a shrug, he replied, “Well, we’re a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”

When he glanced over, Ryan was smiling. His hair was wavy and messy, he was wearing pointy-toed shoes, his neckerchief was slightly askew, and there was no makeup ringing his eyes.

His grin was bright and open, holding nothing back, encompassing everything Brendon had ever wanted.  
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mandy_croyance  
January 19 2008, 06:45:09 UTC  
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Sexy! Angsty! OTP! What more could a girl want?

I especially loved how it started back in the apartment days (which is seriously one of my favourite and the most underrated settings for panic fic) which it being a way for the two of them to relief all the stress they were under. And that it started off with thing like handjobs. 

I also love how you used it to explain the NRWC monologue. That really worked for me.  
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unphoenix  
January 19 2008, 08:40:06 UTC  
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I'm so glad you enjoyed it.^^ I agree, I love the idea of them during the apartment days, when they were all teeny and adorable. I mean, that's such a huge part of what shaped them. Also, I'm glad you liked the monologue part...I wasn't sure about that when I first wrote it, but I kept it in nonetheless.  
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ierorly  
January 19 2008, 09:07:42 UTC  
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eeeee! flail!

♥  
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unphoenix  
January 19 2008, 19:18:00 UTC  
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*grins* I'm going to take that as a good sign.  
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sori1773  
January 19 2008, 17:09:25 UTC  
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oh, excellent! angsty and wonderful and I love how much the entire band just loves each other here. so awesome!  
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unphoenix  
January 19 2008, 19:20:21 UTC  
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Thanks so much!^^  
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pinkstarrypants  
January 20 2008, 19:44:33 UTC  
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Yeah I really loved this. Loved the ideas within it and about all they had to deal with. You made it really realistic and full of angst, love and a bit of sex! Awesome! X  
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unphoenix  
January 20 2008, 20:10:41 UTC  
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Thank you! I'm especially glad you thought it realistic.  
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samedifference_  
January 20 2008, 23:32:38 UTC  
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This is really great. First, I *love* stories that have kind of a past/present/future frame to them. 

The way this builds to the final scene seems really realistic to me. I like that what starts out as friends with benefits turns into something more without either of them really realizing it.

The stuff about the NRWC monologue being an accident threw me off (in a good way) because I had never thought of it like that. I think it works really well within the context of this story.

Oh, and hi! I found this through a random del.icio.us tag search and I'm trying to be better about leaving feedback, because I know you guys live on this stuff. haha.  
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unphoenix  
January 21 2008, 02:29:55 UTC  
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I'm glad everything worked for you so well. The monologue thing just kind of...happened as I was writing it. Kind of how it just...happened for Brendon in the story, I suppose. 

Also, hi! Nice to meet you. You're right, I definitely do live off of feedback, just like all us fic writers. It makes me feel guilty when I forget to leave feedback, actually. Anyway, thank you very much for doing so.  
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subatomicautumn  
January 21 2008, 23:12:40 UTC  
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wow this was awesome.  
i loved how you mentioned all the changes in Ryans style and the make up.  
great job!  
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unphoenix  
January 22 2008, 01:21:23 UTC  
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Thanks. That was the original idea, to look at Ryan's style changes, because I think they really tell a lot about him. It's intrigued me for awhile, the why behind it. The first part of the fic I actually wrote was the clip about Brendon liking it best when Ryan had no make-up on.  
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unphoenix  
January 22 2008, 02:32:21 UTC  
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Haha, you're welcome. Thank you for the compliments!  
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jzbell  
January 23 2008, 09:03:52 UTC  
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I really enjoyed this. The sex was hot and the emotion hit me just right. I'm always a little envious when people can work with the entire timeline, and you did a great job.

Patting Ryan’s back, Brendon started to wonder which one of them the bottle had hit harder.

The clever little lines like this really made it for me. Thank you for sharing!  
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unphoenix  
January 23 2008, 10:05:16 UTC  
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Thank you so much. The compliments mean a huge amount. 

Also, working with the whole timeline is something I end up doing a lot...it just kind of happens that way. I'm actually kind of envious when people can work with a shorter amount of time but still give a huge impact.

So thank you, again.  
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kingsnvagabonds  
January 24 2008, 01:52:12 UTC  
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Uhhhhhhhh, so nicely written :)  
I totally loved this. I seem to be reading great fic that could link perfectly into the canon recently, in every pairing.   
Yay for their slow uptake!  
xxx  
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unphoenix  
January 24 2008, 02:52:39 UTC  
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Aww, yay! So happy you liked it. And that you thought it linked perfectly into canon.  
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rabidfangirl67  
February 10 2008, 04:28:23 UTC  
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This is really realistic, which is rather uncommon for fanfiction. I think why there's hardly anything like RL, is because that's what people are trying to escape from. 

But, this, this is amazing. Full of angst and all the other stuff RL tends to be made of.   
Oh, wow, could you tell that was my lame attempt at a compliment?  
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unphoenix  
February 10 2008, 05:14:12 UTC  
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It was a great compliment. No, really. Thanks so much; I'm glad you think it realistic.^^  
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ex_zarah5186  
April 1 2008, 14:18:46 UTC  
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Wow! The mere thought of taking on such a time-span has me quivering in my seat, but you pulled it off with style and grace and pretty angst. I particularly adored your Brendon, he was perfect in his sometimes serious, sometimes dorky (but still not five-year-old dorky) ways.

Thanks so much for sharing this!  
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unphoenix  
April 1 2008, 20:10:01 UTC  
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Thank you so much for the comments.^^ I'm glad you enjoyed Brendon. And apparently I can't do anything but work in large time spans.  
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bowiscute145  
April 7 2008, 10:05:13 UTC  
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you see this: “The Cobra must have been strong with you during the making of this masterpiece,” - and the ending which is so sweet and pretty. make my life.  
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unphoenix  
April 7 2008, 21:24:42 UTC  
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Thank you.^^ I'm glad you enjoyed it. (Oh Gabe, how I love thee.)  
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delicatelight  
April 11 2008, 23:19:14 UTC  
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Oh, I loved this! Great job. :D  
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unphoenix  
April 12 2008, 02:02:00 UTC  
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Thank you.^^  
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starlesscities  
April 20 2008, 18:15:33 UTC  
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-splutter-  
-flail-

amazing.  
end of.  
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unphoenix  
April 20 2008, 18:42:54 UTC  
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Thank you. So much.<333  
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clo_sama  
April 23 2008, 17:36:40 UTC  
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You are my new favourite person EVER.  
I love you.

This is seriously genius ! So well written ! Really, it feels so true...   
Best fic ever.  
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unphoenix  
April 23 2008, 21:24:44 UTC  
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Wow. Thank you so incredibly much. *is ridiculously flattered*  
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unphoenix  
fic: I Thought (1/2)  
unphoenix  
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